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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23073814">Puppy Problems</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperArtist/pseuds/WhisperArtist'>WhisperArtist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brooklyn gets a dog, Canon Era, Eagle the Escape Artist, Fluff, Gen, Graves and Myron are Spot's soft spot, Hotshot's done, Poker, So is Spot - Freeform, Stubborn Hotshot, dog-napping, no beta reader we die like men, no editting, pure fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:40:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,353</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23073814</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperArtist/pseuds/WhisperArtist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Brooklyn's new pup maybe turn out to be more than the boys can handle.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Spot Conlon &amp; Hotshot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Puppy Problems</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I get it, Shot, I really do, but ya can’t keep doin’ this shit.” Spot was exasperated, he had every right to be, but Hotshot didn’t care all that much. He was listening. He heard what Spot was saying, but no matter how many times he said it, Hotshot couldn’t bring himself to accept it. He was stubborn. That’s how he got his nickname as much as him being a bit of an impulsive idiot. That had a lot to do with why Spot kept trying to get him to stop. Hotshot was just waiting for the day he realized he couldn’t win and just gave up. Today was not that day.</p><p>“I hear ya, but look at how happy all the littles are,” Hotshot said, gesturing over the railing towards the main floor. All of the youngest Brooklyn newsies, and a few of the elder ones, were sitting in a circle around the cause of this argument. A dark chocolate lab wandered around the edge of the ring, sniffing at each kid and even licking a few. Graves looked like he was about to melt into a puddle on the floor. Kenny was wary at first but started laughing when the pup licked his face.</p><p>“We don’t got room for a dog, Hotshot,” Spot said, crossing his arms. “Didn’t the first five times ya brought one home, don’t now.”</p><p>“Come on, Spotty, why not?” He asked. He was very aware that he sounded like a child, but he didn’t care. Spot gave him a mildly disgusted look. “He can sleep with the boys in the bunk room. We’ll find a way to feed ’em. The boys can take turn takin’ him out sellin’.” It seemed like a foolproof plan.</p><p>“That dog’ll be one more thing for them boys to fight over,” Spot said. “No.”</p><p>Hotshot glanced down at the circle of newsies one more time. What he saw was pure, perfect timing. A gift from God that just <i>proved</i> they were supposed to keep this dog.</p><p>“Okay, but you can tell Myron and Graves the pup’s goin’.”</p><p>Spot paled at this, visibly paled, and glanced down again. Sure enough, Myron and Graves had the small dog pulled on their laps between them, showing the younger kids how to pet him. They were in love, sure as day, with the brown mutt Hotshot had found on the street. Spot couldn’t get rid of the dog now. Not if he didn’t want to crush those two. Myron and Graves were always the big, bad Spot Conlon’s weak spot.</p><p><i>“Fine,”</i> Spot relented. Hotshot smirked. “But you’re responsible for any mutt-related fights. Got it?”</p><p>“Loud and clear, Spotty,” Hotshot said, before running down the steps, vaulting over the banister to avoid the last five. Spot yelled down at him to stop, calling him a ‘bad influence,’ but Hotshot ignored him in favor of telling everyone the good news. Bart bet that he wouldn’t convince Spot and Hotshot was more than ready to collect that particular debt.</p><p>“We won fellas!” He called, scooping the pup out of Myron and Graves’ laps and holding him above his head. The newsies around him cheered. “Now, he needs a name.”</p>
<hr/><p>Name debates took all night. Literally. Hotshot was about to pull his hair out with the number of screaming littles that surrounded him. Spot just sat there with this stupid amused smirk on his face and did nothing to help corral the obnoxious kids. Twisted bastard. He knew that this would happen. That’s why he put Hotshot in charge of the damn dog in the first place. He knew it would turn to hell on earth quicker than you could say ‘pape.’</p><p>After much, <i>much</i> debating, they finally settled on a name. The dog was dubbed Eagle after the <i>Brooklyn Eagle</i> they so loyally sold. Not that the asshole who owned it cared much so long as he was getting paid. Personally, Hotshot was against the name, but if it kept the littles quiet, he could suffer through. The pup seemed pretty happy with his name, so Hotshot was satisfied.</p><p>Once they settled on a name, Spot sent everyone under the age of twelve to bed. It was bad enough that it was well past nine that this point. They would all be tired and obnoxious in the morning. The elder newsies sat around the living room, Spades starting a game of poker that quickly got at least half the kids involved. Kit sat perched on the back of the couch, watching over Rain’s shoulder. Spades tried to goad Spot and Hotshot into playing, but they both knew better than to test their luck against her. </p><p>“Who’s he gonna sleep with tonight?” Spot asked, lazy smirk still in place. </p><p>“Myron, probly,” Hotshot said. The dog was curled up in said teen’s lap, fast asleep, and Myron didn’t look far from following. Damn kid couldn’t stay up late to save his life.</p><p>“And tomorrow mornin’?”</p><p>“Same,” Hotshot said, plan already formulating. “Probably let ’em pass him to each bunk room. They’s can fight over who keeps ’im for the day.”</p><p>“Sounds risky,” Spot said with a bit of a skeptical expression.</p><p>“Nah. There’s at least one older kid in each bunk room for a reason.”</p>
<hr/><p>Hotshot’s plan lasted about a week before someone fucked it up. Did he know who? No. Was he going to kill them when he found out? Yes.</p><p>Someone in the Lodging House got it into their thick skull that it would be a good idea to steal Eagle from the bunkroom that was supposed to have him that day. All and all, not the dumbest thing that someone’s ever come up with. The thing that took it too far was the fact that earlier that night, that bunk room had decided Graves would have him for the day. Now Hotshot had to deal with a pissed Spot, an emotional Graves, and a goddamn missing dog.</p><p>He had to hand it to them, whichever bunk room had come up with the idea covered their tracks well. There was not a single clue as to who took the pup or where they hid him. Hotshot and Spot had searched the entire house, from basement to attic, with no luck. It didn’t help that almost all of the kids were out selling the morning paper either. Knowing the little con artists Hotshot lived with, he would bet the damn dog was halfway to Queens by now.</p><p>Well, Spot decided ‘his dog, his problem’ and left Hotshot alone in the Lodging House to interrogate everyone as they came in while Graves and he went out selling. That meant that Hotshot not only lost the day’s pay, but he had to find a way to entertain himself for the next few hours. He was rarely the one left in these situations. He was known to work through illnesses and injuries almost as often as Spot himself. He was the second-in-command of the Brooklyn newsies, what else was he supposed to do?</p><p>Hours later, Hotshot questioned every single kid as they walked through those doors. Still, if anyone knew anything, they weren’t giving it up. Hotshot was getting more and more exasperated as each kid passed without giving him any helpful information. They all said that the last time they saw Eagle, he was right where he was supposed to be. Hotshot had to have some answers by the time Spot got back with Graves, or there would be hell to pay.</p><p>That was, of course, the moment Hotshot heard a soft ‘woof’ from the other side of the door. Wide-eyed, Hotshot opened the Lodging House door to see Eagle standing on the steps, tail wagging. He trotted past Hotshot without a care in the world, unaware of the chaos he had caused. Not a single newsie was in sight, no explanation of how the dog found his way outside, nothing.</p><p>That night Eagle was renamed ‘Eagle the Escape Artist,’ and his tale would be passed down from Brooklyn newsie to Brooklyn newsie for years to come.</p><p>Hotshot really hated that pup.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(Not really)</p><p>Hotshot loves Eagle, Eagle's just a little shit</p><p>Honestly, this was supposed to be angsty when I started writing and then... dog. I don't even know where the ending came from. I finished writing this at work and I'm tired so blame that.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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